


Tell Me a Tale

by Hel_in_NL



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Demonic summoning, F/F, F/M, First Time, Getting Together, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Making Love, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Revenge, Violence, it starts off bad and gets better, story time, unpleasant sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-25 18:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hel_in_NL/pseuds/Hel_in_NL
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley swap stories of times they tempted and blessed humans with their own bodies during history. Some tales are ugly, some are beautiful, some just are.Their's might be the greatest, though.Edit: Messed up the formatting in the fourth chapter. It should be working now!





	1. Firsts: Crowley

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a break from my other fic to write smut and run down through history.

Two weeks after the apocalypse-that-wasn’t and they were still celebrating. Brunches would lead into lunches and lunches into dinners. It always ended with drinking, chatting, laughing, and ultimately passing out on Crowley’s large bed or on Aziraphale’s plush sofa. Rinse, repeat,  _ enjoy. _ They hadn’t spent more than two hours from each other in that time, making up for millennia of lurking, whispering, and glancing over their shoulders. 

It never occurred to them that this wasn’t something friends typically did. Not even the best of ones. 

Even if it had they probably would not have given a damn.

It was day fifteen of their never-ending-celebration when they discovered a truly ancient clay jug of something sweet in a stone chest that had occupied Aziraphale’s stockroom for so long he had forgotten exactly when he came into it. The alcohol had been more potent than anything humans of the present day could hope to brew and sweet like a long extinct fruit that neither of them could remember the name of. It warmed them from the inside out, left their minds active and their tongues loose. 

It was said that loose lips sink ships. Sometimes, however, they may be able to moor them. 

They were talking about temptations and blessings when Aziraphale tipped his head to allow it to rest on his wing back chair and looked to the ceiling of his shop, his thoughts wandering, his lips telegraphing exactly the direction they had wandered. “I think out of the temptations you had me do I preferred the gluttonous and the lusty. Both could be tipped to revenance if one tried.”   
  
And he had. 

Crowley’s limbs were sprawled in all cardinal directions as he lounged on the couch, a wine glass balanced precariously on his chest, sunglasses pushed up so high they were doubling as a headband. _ “You would. _ I think of the blessings I preferred the ones where happiness and love were involved. I didn’t get a lot of that myself. It was nice to ride on someone else’s wave, you know?”

“Quite.” The angel nodded a bit too much, chin striking his chest. It was an open secret that Crowley, for all his posturing, enjoyed softness just as much as Aziraphale sometimes enjoyed a bit of good natured mischief. Neither of them were fond of cruelty. 

Mischief was something this liquor inspired, it seemed. “I liked when I had to step in personally. There’s something so...so  _ naughty _ about being the focus of lust,” Aziraphale mused out loud, eyeing his friend for a reaction. 

He got one. Crowley sat up, very nearly tipping his wine glass but snake-like reflexes stopped disaster before it could start. “Are you saying, angel, you’d  _ dally _ with assigned humans?” The demon was giggling as if he had been given a particularly saucy gag gift.    
  
“I’d do  _ more _ than dally.” He felt bold and, really, riling Crowley up was a delight. He took a cool, collected sip of his drink before continuing, relishing in the lead up to the reveal he had planned. “I’d fuck or make love, depending on what I was there for.”    
  
Crowley was looking at the angel with barely repressed curiosity as he reached, blindly, for the dusty jug to top up his glass. After all this time, his angel was still finding ways to subvert his expectations. “You can’t say something like that and  _ not _ expand on it, angel.”    
  
“I certainly can!” Aziraphale laughed and held his glass out for the demon to top him up as well. He did. “One does not kiss and tell, dear.”   
  
Crowley smirked a telling smirk. “Ya were bad at it, huh?” He knew how to get what he wanted from his angel, just like how he knew Aziraphale was intentionally trying to get him going. He thoroughly enjoyed these kind of games. They often turned to braggadocious challenges, something Crowley believed he excelled in. 

The problem was Aziraphale  _ also _ thought he excelled in such challenges. “I’ve never heard any complaints. In fact, I mostly heard a lot of  _ ‘yes!’ _ and taking the Lord’s name in vain.”   
  
“Yeh? Weave me a tale, oh great Aziraphale!” Crowley bowed dramatically, flourishing his wine glass so aggressively that it was a literal miracle he spilled not a drop. “All those books, you must be able to tell a good story. Tell me about your first ‘indulgence’ in flesh!”    
  
Aziraphale chuckled. He so did enjoy when Crowley got theatrical as a way of coaxing him. Crowley, of course, knew this as well. 

He allowed himself to play into his hands. It wasn’t as if Gabriel was going to descend and chastise him, after all.   
  


“I’ll tell you one if you tell me one, my dear,” he countered smoothly, crossing his legs primly. “Though, perhaps you are not a good story teller…?”    
  
Crowley grinned, sharp toothed and wicked. They had existed in a time before the written word, when all great stories of glory and tragedy were passed by word of mouth. He was an  _ expert _ in storytelling. 

However, this topic was raw. Aziraphale was his best friend, though, and could be trusted to not judge too harshly. He truly did have an angelic countenance. Other could learn a thing or two from him. 

The demon leaned into the arm rest, took a sip of drink, and thought it over. “My first time wasn’t pretty...my first time....” 

He remembered it perfectly. He remembered with a clarity he wish he didn’t have. Perhaps that’s why he feigned having to think hard on it, lest Aziraphale guess it was as momentous to him as it actually had been. 

“I think...it was a long time ago….”

**********************************************************************************************************

After Adam and Eve left Eden Crowley did not return to Hell. He instead chose to explore the world that he and the other Fallen had once helped create. Most times he stayed on his belly, hiding left God took offense to curiosity once again and smote him. He explored vast plains, hissing wastes, dense forests, and deep rivers with the same curiosity as the daughters and sons of Adam and Eve had. When he finally deigned to stand on two feet again he took to the sky to see mountains and just how far the ocean went on for. 

When he got his next assignment he was surprised to find that the humans had multiplied in spades. More than that, there now so many different kinds with so many different beliefs that he could walk around without much fear. Back then his eyes were a curiosity, not an aberration. He wasn’t feared. 

He had been on the earth for nine hundred and ninety-six years when he received his first assignment in lust. 

There had been a village that appointed a young woman to lead as a priestess. Said woman refused all manner of suitor until, finally, one reacted as men sometimes do when denied. With violence.

She was taken by force. Bound to him. It was an ugly scene but not an uncommon one. 

She was a priestess for a reason, however. This was a time when humans still had enough grace and magic in them to use the energy in the world. She stopped praying to her gods for intervention and took her fate into her own hands.

When Crowley had gone to her he first appeared as a serpent. She had been so dedicated in asking her favors from the darkness that he felt she deserved proof of his occult nature. A giant, talking snake was certainly that. He had been impressed when she merely gasped and looked at him with awe, not frightened in the least by his sudden appearance in her circle. 

He knew the story. The memo had told him all he needed to know. All he needed now was a direction.  _ “What do you desssire?” _ He had hissed to her, long and low, the sound of shadows themselves. The voice of temptation.  _ “What would sssserve you bessst?” _   
  
Her dark eyes were steel.  _ “I want him to suffer. He has killed my lover. She was a beauty that will never be known again. Hurt him. Terrorize him as he has terrorized me. Then let him die painfully.” _ __   
  
Crowley good still acutely taste sulfur back then. He hadn’t spent enough time with the angel or mankind to gain any of their better qualities. In his quiet moments he could feel the terror of falling, the burn of wings, the tearing of his soul. He could taste loss and pain similar to his own on his forked tongue. She was so hurt. So lost. She had placed not only revenge on him...but hope.

He was a demon, through and through. 

_ He remembered hope. He still had hope.  _

When he stepped from her circle he was no longer a serpent. The Effort had changed.

This was the first time He was She. 

She should have stood out. Pale skin and red hair against a sea of dark on dark. Yet she did not. Others passed her without a thought. The only eyes she caught were those of her target. She found him sitting with friends, smiling and leering, joking and being crass. Her hips swayed like a cobra, drawing him in. Her eyes held his and, if he noticed how strange they were compared to anyone else, he never said or was too entranced to care.

It was easy to lead him away. All thoughts of his beautiful prize he had battled for usurped by this exotic creature. Crowley often wondered if, in that moment, she had been the first succubus. She certainly felt power in the seduction and manipulation.

He had tried to take her by force. Greedy fingers digging into her shoulders and hips. It _ hurt _ yet Crowley had smiled slyly, gasped prettily. Reeled him in further. 

It was only when he had her thighs spread and lining up that she spoke.  _ “You are about to get all you dessserve.”  _ __   
  
He thrust in.  __ It hurt terribly.

Crowley hissed. Showed fangs, allowed a forked tongue to flick between. His target recoiled, a scream on his lips, but the wind was knocked from him as Crowley wrapped her legs about his and flipped their positions, then descended to claim his lips with her own. There was blood. Muffled screams. 

She was venomous, after all. 

When she pulled away she kept riding, confusing his senses. His voice had died, toxins working quickly in mortal veins. Crowley knew what made for a good, impacting visual. She knew what made terror potent.  _ Confusion.  _ When a brain couldn’t work out what was happening and the senses were overwhelmed.

She was familiar with terror on a personal level.

This man was a picture of horrified confusion. Pleasure coursing through him along with venom, a beauty holding his gaze, his own blood dripping staining her lips and dribbling down her chin across her breast. Crowley made a show of it, letting herself bounce on him, grinned with fangs and yellow that took up the entirety of her eyes. She hurt him, used him, made it good and awful. 

It hurt her terribly but she was a demon. She could handle it. 

He never got to come. Crowley simply could  _ not _ allow that. It was too intimate and this, THIS, was not the creature she wanted to allow to spill inside her. There was no creature she wanted such a thing from. No human held her ardour in such a way, let alone her lust. 

Crowley saw fire. Smelled apples and rain. Saw a smile and blue sky eyes….

_ (Crowley, in telling this story, left this out. Alcohol hadn’t undone him that much. Not yet.) _

She came and tore his throat out at the same time. The latter wasn’t needed. The venom would have done him in after a time and caused him to suffer far longer. She had just suddenly become horrified and confused herself. He was a convenient target for such a sudden, animal emotion. She was sobbing and screaming in frustrated anguish as he gurgled and twitched.

_ (Once again, he smoothly avoided this. The angel didn’t need to know. He didn’t want him to know. Let him believe she took her pleasure and let him die. He dared not expose the angel to such...demonicness. What would he think?) _

She became He. He became a Serpent. Then he lurked and listened to the fallout. The one who had started the assignment was cunning. Her spouse dead she took up his position, preached the word of her people. She told them this had been his punishment for his misdeeds. That evil had been met by evil. 

She left out her own role. She never mentioned the summoning. Kept herself an avenged victim, which she was. Crowley expected nothing less. 

He had received a glowing review afterwards from the Lords of Hell. They appreciated the viciousness. The sin of it all. They sent him a medal.

Crowley had ‘lost’ it the first chance he got. 

*************************************************************************************************************

Aziraphale was quiet, blue eyes distant. Crowley watched him carefully over the rim of his wine glass. He wondered if he had guessed he left important parts out. He hadn’t stammered or contradicted himself but Aziraphale was just about the cleverest man he knew. Perhaps he’d overlooked something? 

The angel in question took a sip of his wine. “...I’m so sorry.”   
  
The demon blinked, tilted his head. “Why?”   
  


“You deserve better.” Deserve. Present tense. Crowley shifted, looked away, pushed his sunglasses down over his eyes on impulse. 

“It was just an assignment, angel.”

Aziraphale was studying him, blue eyes sharp in a way that spoke of anger. Crowley had a feeling that he wasn’t angry  _ with him _ but with the ugliness of it all. The unjustness. 

  
He couldn’t stand it. “So,” he spoke lightly, relaxing himself once again, and gestured with his glass. “Your turn, angel. I hope it was nicer than mine.”   
  
Aziraphale hesitated before allowing himself to soften. “Yes. I suppose it was.”


	2. Firsts: Aziraphale

As with most things in Aziraphale’s long life it started as a small indulgence that became a rather large, hard to justify indulgence. 

For example, he once indulged himself in speaking with a snake on a garden wall. It seemed harmless. Then that snake had become his best friend and he was now indulging himself by spending as much time with him as possible. 

_ (Crowley laughed. Blushed. Drank. It was quite fetching.) _

Another example? He had eaten one olive. Just one. He was to perform a blessing and minor miracle for some good, faithful people. The family hosting him had offered him a meal, had insisted he have something even after he politely declined, and he finally popped the small fruit in his mouth in hopes of satisfying them while not sullying his temple  _ too _ much. One became two which very quickly became three, four, five….

Now he would gladly polish off a meal and have room for a full box of pastries afterwards. Shame was old fashioned and, really, why wouldn’t he want to celebrate all the things She had gifted the world? She would  _ want _ him to worship at his own alter!

And if the Lord disagreed She never made it known. 

In this case his small indulgence of the flesh hadn’t been an assignment. It hadn’t even started with one. Not really. 

He had been in Greece and it was late summer. He was, to put it in modern terms, ‘slumming it’ as he awaited a clarification on some orders he received involving a merchant in the area. Both father and son had the same name but the letter he received had given him no indication just  _ who _ was in need of a blessing. Then it came out that the forms themselves were contradicting each other-

Well, the details don’t matter. The assignment doesn’t matter. Not for this story. 

He was ‘slumming it’ which consisted of a lot of reading, drinking, eating, and attempting to not melt away in the heat. He was doing all of the above in a public house one humid night as he waited for the night to cool enough to allow him to return to his rooms across the village with some measure of comfort. He was wrapped up in the translation of an Egyptian scroll when a young man with dark eyes that sparkled like the night sky sat across from him. 

“Buy me a drink and I’ll keep you company.” He smiled irreverently, revealing perfect teeth, a rarity in the area. His dark beard was well kept, his skin darkened by the sun and heritage. Aziraphale liked to watch humans but he found it was often that it was the men that most often took his breath away. This specimen was particularly breathtaking. 

He bought him a drink. 

It was so easy to justify! His eyes were tired from reading, he was drinking heavily in the heat, he was lonely, he was bored, he was being hospitable. Etcetera, etcetera. 

The truth was far more human. Uncomfortably so.

A pretty face had made conversation with him and he indulged.

In retrospect he probably shouldn’t have drank so much. It was far too hot and humid to drink nothing but alcohol. The company he was keeping was charming, funny, clever. He wanted him to stay just a little longer.  _ Indulge me a bit longer, dear. _

He bought more drinks. Leaned on his elbow on the table, got caught up in dark eyes and clever word play. 

The moon was high in the sky by the time they stumbled into the streets, holding each other up, his arm around the young man’s waist and the young man’s arm about his bare chest. 

_ (Crowley gasped then, tantalized. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “It was  _ ** _hot,_ ** _ my dear!”) _

They didn’t go back to his rooms. They made it as far as a shadowy patch of trees before one of them gave in to heat and alcohol and good company. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure which one it was as he had, truthfully, banished the instigation from his mind to protect himself. What would it mean if _ that _ was the  _ choice _ he made?

There in Ancient Greece, he wasn’t ready to face his own free will. Angels were servants, not free beings. Better to blame anything else but himself.

It was quick and desperate, a thing driven by instinct, raw passion, and fear of being caught. Lips glided over lips, teeth clacked, and his partners beard irritated his face in the best of ways. He hadn’t kissed before. He decided then and there he liked it  _ very _ much. 

Aziraphale couldn’t deny that  _ he _ was the one that pressed his companion to a particularly wide trunked tree. He couldn’t deny that he moaned when a hand found its way into his robes and pressed against his cock. His partner had done this before. That was good. He needed an experienced hand to guide him to what came next. 

_ (“Was it you that came next?” “I don’t recall interrupting  _ ** _you_ ** _ , my dear.”)  _

The gorgeous young man took great care in showing himself off as he stretched and prepared. In truth, they should have been faster. Anyone could have seen them, given their open air location, yet Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to think about that. He had a hand on his member and was stroking, watching, transfixed by what was being offered and totally overcome by how  _ raw _ and  _ real _ life was. 

Afterwards he wondered if he should be ashamed. He wasn’t, not really. 

His dark eyed partner reached for him, slicked his cock with oil with a practiced, confident hand. He grinned all the while, seemingly delighting in Aziraphale’s virgin gasps, his apologies for his inexperience, and soft murmurs of encouragement. That smile only faded when he guided Aziraphale inside, flickering away to a slack jawed groan of pleasure. Aziraphale was right there with him. 

From there it was nothing for him to grab the man by hip and ass, let him wrap his legs around him, and press him tighter to the tree bark to thrust in earnest. It was a hasty coupling. He had no hope of lasting very long with his inexperience but he delighted in every millisecond. The drag of pleasure, the lips on his, the tightness, the pressure-

_ (It was the affection that did him in, if he was honest. He was needy for it. Earth was lonely. Heaven was lonely. He always felt vaguely uncomfortable both above and below the firmament. He wondered if God had misstepped in his creation but dared not say out loud. God made no mistakes. Right?) _

_ (He left all of this out of his telling.) _

His orgasm, the first he ever had, ripped through him like a sudden dawn. Bright and hot, refreshing and new. It filled his chest with renewed appreciation for all life and understanding of why humans sought out such physical connections. It was more than pleasure, it was close to divinity. 

He wondered if God made it that way on purpose.

His partner came shortly after under the frantic urging of Aziraphale’s trembling hand. He could still remember how those eyes seemed to ignite as it washed over him, how his whole world seemed to focus on Aziraphale and Aziraphale only. 

Aziraphale drank it up with eager, open mouthed kisses. He wanted to keep every bit of what was offered. Hoard it like he would come to hoard books or dainty snuff boxes. Back then he was expected to be humble. He had no permanent home. He had few personal belongings. He hadn’t learned to be covetous yet. 

This was his,  _ his _ ,  **his** . 

Greecian clothing made for easy redressing. They didn’t say much to each other after. The young man was blissed out, grinning in a way that reminded him of a time long ago on a garden wall. The connection seemingly came from nowhere, startled him, made him uneasy. Made him deeply ashamed.

_(He said none of this. He couldn’t. The Original Grin was _**_right_** **_there_**_, after all.)_

They parted ways with a kiss and a few soft, forgotten words. Aziraphale was spiraling by the time he reached his rooms. What had he done? Angels weren’t  _ meant _ to do that! Yet there came no bolt from the blue to punish him. Shouldn’t he be Falling? Did the lack of intervention mean it was all okay?

The thought followed him even after he sobered himself. It followed him well past dawn. He didn’t leave his rooms that day or the day after. It had felt so good to keep someone so close, to let them worship and worship in return. He was made of love but  _ this _ ... _ this  _ was all his. 

His,  _ his _ ,  **his** . 

He left Greece. A cowardly, avoidant move. He didn’t want to risk seeing that young man again and giving him the wrong ideas. Aziraphale was too weak to deny him...and anything more than a single night would have been quite impossible. Better to leave without a word. 

It took years for him to realize that he hadn’t even asked his name. 

*************************************************************************************************************

Crowley was looking at him with highly arched eyebrows. “Earlier than I would have thought. Ancient Greece, huh?”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, avoiding his eyes. “Ah. Yes. Well. We both know I’m attracted to what feels good.” He attempted to take another drink, realized his glass was empty, reached for the jug-   
  
Crowley was already holding, it out, ready to pour for him. “Sounds like you get off on doing what you shouldn’t, angel.” He was teasing him, but gently. There was no judgement in the demon’s voice, only observation and understanding. He filled his glass with tender care, never spilling a drop. 

  
  


“Perhaps. We both know I’m a poor angel,” he laughed at his own self depreciation, took a sip of drink, let the warmth fill him. Crowley didn’t laugh with him. He was frowning. 

“You’re the best angel.” There was such conviction in his voice that it nearly wrecked Aziraphale. Crowley saw it. “You are, though. Indulgences are nothing if you’re still willing to self sacrifice for the greater good, right?”   
  
There was a time that Aziraphale wouldn’t have been able to admit just how much that sentiment, coming from a demon, meant to him. That time had passed about fifteen days ago. Instead he found himself blushing, smiling bashfully. “Perhaps. I suppose you would be an expert.”   
  
Crowley grinned and Aziraphale felt a pang in his chest. That smile did things to him. It always had. 

...that young man’s grin had reminded him of...of….

“Another tale, then?” He asked suddenly, surprising himself. If Crowley told another he would have to as well. Yet...he wanted to hear more. Perhaps he really was a glutton. 

Crowley kept on grinning as he refilled his own glass. “I suppose I got another one in me.” He took another drink, yellow eyes losing their focus as he cast his mind back and back. “I’ll make it nicer this time. Softer.”   
  
Aziraphale nodded...and silently resolved to tell him his worst later. Crowley had bared so much with his first tale and now here he was asking for more. It was shameful, really.

Yet he wasn’t ashamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft and lonely.


	3. Drinking in L.A.: Crowley

Crowley thoroughly enjoyed dancing. He wasn’t good at it by any stretch of the imagination and he’d never think of claiming he was. He lacked any kind of grace or rhythm and he was prone to tripping over his own feet when he got too into the groove. It was one of the few things in his life he did for the pure fun of it.

Sometimes you just gotta dance, you know? 

_ (Aziraphale did, in fact, know.) _

He hadn’t gone to L.A. specifically to dance. It  _ had _ been for work but for the life I of him he couldn’t remember if it had been a temptation, cursing, or one of his more human business ventures.

He did remember it had been the late 80’s or early 90’s and the club had been a terrible mix of frantic and depressing. A new plague had swept the community he preferred, leaving them reeling and devastating their morale. Death had taken good people.

He could taste grief at the tip of his tongue no matter where he went. 

So he drank and danced hard as he could, a vain attempt to drown it out. He ground and swayed and jumped. At one point he remembered quite literally swinging from a table. Sweat ran down his body in rivulets, dripping from the tip of his nose, the crest of chin. By the time his hair was soaked to a darker shade of red he was breathing as if he had ran a marathon and more than a little drunk. The spirits in the club had picked up. He wasn’t sure if that was his doing or not. Transference was a thing in their kind, after all.    
  
Bodies were pressed close together, fighting for their spot to strut their stuff or partnered up in dances that had more place in a motel that rented by the hour than a dance floor. He enjoyed it. The touch and closeness. It was filthy and freeing all in the same motions.

The VIP lounge was bound to be less crowded, though, and he’d have to fight less to get to the bar. There may even be drugs. 

_ (“A VIP room in the 80’s? There were certainly drugs.” Crowley didn’t question how the angel knew that with such certainty.)  _

He wasn’t on the VIP list but he got in anyways because, honestly, he believed he should be. They didn’t even question him as he ascended the stairs, clinging to the railing for dear life as they seemed to keep swaying beneath his feet. 

There were drugs. There was also top shelf liquor. He gorged on both until he was hissing in chemically induced bliss, then danced more. The bodies up here weren’t as packed together. It made it easier to see the faces of who he was dancing and lathe worship on them. 

Crowley was adept with worship. Well practiced. When one had such a skill they simply had to share it. 

The one he picked was, in a word, sweet. A child compared to his ancient ass. Doe eyed, soft cheeked, mousy haired. Cute as a button. How such a timid looking creature ended up in the VIP room was a lasting mystery to him but he thanked Satan he was there. All this grief and fear...he could use something sweet.

This one was the sweetest. His first time in heels and a skirt. Or perhaps hers? They never did get around to pronouns. Perhaps it didn’t matter to them. Perhaps they were just glad to have attention blessed upon them.

Oh, and  _ how _ Crowley blessed them. If head office had seen how he doted and coaxed he’d have been hung...or given a gold star in corruption.

They really were a Sweet One. 

Crowley clung to them, swayed and whispered saccharine nothings. He was drunk enough to drip with honeyed words and honesty. He praised and complimented, kissed and nibbled, curled locks of pale hair about his fingers gently then tugged. Every giggle and whimper served to bring Crowley higher, to drive him wild with delight. 

By the time he was slamming his Sweet One to the bathroom wall it was hard to say who was gagging for it more. Probably Sweet One. More than likely Crowley, given how quickly he dropped to his knees and pulled up their skirt to take them in his mouth. Oh, how Sweet One could moan. It was musical. Better than any of the bass heavy tracks being pumped out in the club. He  _ may _ have whimpered in response, happy to give this to them.

_ (Aziraphale was flushed, staring intently into his glass. Quiet in a way he rarely was. Crowley didn’t miss how he wet his lips. He didn’t think too hard on it, either.) _

Sweet One tangled their hands in his hair and never had he been so thankful that he hadn’t given into an impulse to chop it off before crossing to America. He was even more thankful he had tied it up enough for it to be pulled. He was a sucker for that kind of thing. 

It drove him wild. 

In a moment he was releasing the Sweet One with an obscene, wet ‘pop!’ In the next he had his own, achingly hard cock out. Then both were pressed together, rutting and bucking, sharing a breath between lips. Crowley couldn’t stop running his mouth. _ ‘There’s a good love.’ ‘It’s okay, right?’ ‘You’re absolutely perfect. The best one here. An absolute  _ ** _stunner.’_ **

_ (Things he wanted to hear. Things he dared not ask to hear. Demons didn’t deserve that.) _

The Sweet One responded beautifully, clutching his shoulder and ass, wrapping a leg about his hips so they could press tighter together. Sweet One begged and pleaded and  _ ‘don’t stop!’ _ then he was undone. He clung to him desperately, screamed out wordlessly, and came all over Crowley’s third favorite jacket. 

Crowley didn’t mind.

He had come all over his jacket as well. 

Kisses were lavished on the Sweet One as they found their breath again. He only let go once he was sure they were able to stand on their own two feet and, even then, he tidied him up using a blue, tartan handkerchief that he had acquired from  _ somewhere _ . 

_ (Aziraphale looked up with wide eyes. Crowley grinned wickedly.) _

He bought Sweet One a drink, played with their hair more, continued whispering sweet nothings and reassurances that things would get better.

He didn’t know what Sweet One needed to get better. They never said. It seemed to comfort them nonetheless. 

_ (The claudestein blessing he performed probably did more to help then Crowley’s actual words.) _

He paid for Sweet One’s cab home and stole one more sweet, lingering kiss before they were whisked out of his life.

After that he did so much cocaine that the next time he had a clear, coherent thought it was four days later and he was in fucking Boston with out of his luggage or any indication of how he got there. 

All sweetness purged.

*************************************************************************************************************

Aziraphale was studying his glass as if it held the answer to life, the universe, and everything. It made the demon nervous. Perhaps that was  _ too _ soft? Too much? Maybe he had shattered the angels image of him. 

...he wasn’t sure what image that would be.

“That…,” Azirphale hesitated, glancing at him through pale eyelashes before casting his eyes back to his half full glass. “That was lovely.”   
  
He took a drink. It was more than lovely. It was sparking something in his mind and chest that he wasn’t sure what to do with. They should probably stop telling these sort of stories but...but now Crowley was two in, one of which was harsh, and he had only told one. He needed to at least make balance the scales.

Crowley cleared his throat, shifted in his seat. “I can’t tell if you’re putting me on or not.”   
  
“Oh! I most certainly am not!” Aziraphale straightened himself, meeting yellow eyes with fierce blue. “You deserve such sweetness, my dear boy. It was lovely because of how tenderly you recalled it.”   
  


“Ssshut up,” Crowley hissed despite himself and drained his glass. “Just wanted to get laid. Would have sssaid anything.”

Aziraphale smiled gently. He highly doubted that. His dear, soft demon….

“Shall I tell you something brutal? To remind you that there’s bitterness to go with sweet?” Aziraphale tilted his head a little, the event already bubbling to the forefront of his mind. 

Crowley eyed him with an inscrutable look. “...don’t tell me anything you don’t want to, angel.” He wasn’t sure if he could handle hearing about any pain the angel had endured that he hadn’t been around to remedy. It felt like a personal failure, somehow.    
  
“My dear, surely you know how much I trust you?” He stood from his wing back chair only to transfer himself to the sofa next to his friend. “I know anything I say will be treated with respect.”   
  
Crowley had nothing to say to this, though he was flushed down to his neck. He nodded mutely, and gestured with his glass for Aziraphale to go on. He couldn’t stop him anyways.

Aziraphale chuckled softly, refilled their glasses with a smooth motion. “Stop me if it becomes too much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [listens to LA Devotee on repeat]


	4. Love and Mourning: Aziraphale

Angels are made of love. No. That isn’t right. Angels are made of righteousness and commanded to love despite the former. Love was but a concept to most angels, one that was hard to understand because it seemed distant and frivolous.  _ Human. _ Why did they need to love to fulfill their duties? 

Aziraphale loved and loved well. He loved in ways that made him ashamed when he compared himself to other angels. To them love was but a word with a definition. To him love was a state of being. It was something he struggled to keep under wraps, to stuff down and pass off as typical angelic love. Passion wasn’t befitting an angel.

He  _ was _ passionate, though. Worst of all, he was helpless to control it.

That was probably why he accidently fell absolutely, madly, ardently in love with a human. 

_ (Crowley choked, slitted pupils very nearly vanishing into a sea of yellow as he stared in shock.) _

He should have known that having a shop would force far more interaction with humanity than he was prepared for. It was all well and good to go about blessing and miracling when you were just a face in the crowd. It was something quite different when one set down roots and become a fixture in the neighborhood. People wanted to know him and he wasn’t used to seeing the same faces so frequently. 

One face was particularly fetching.

Aziraphale knew he was in trouble the moment he walked through the door. Tall, stern faced, soft eyed, dark haired. It was his smile that did him in, however. Be still his poor, ethereal heart! He had only seen one smile like that before in his life, long ago, on top of a wall while waiting for rain. 

He removed his top hat politely as he browsed the shelves. Aziraphale tried not to stare but failed terribly. The worst part was every time he realized he was looking again he found this customers eyes would catch his own. 

It was juvenile.

_ It was thrilling. _

The man made a selection and, for the first time in many weeks, Aziraphale sold one of his precious books without any fuss at all. 

_ (He waited until Crowley had swallowed his drink before revealing that. He certainly didn’t want to discorporate the dear demon!)  _

They made small talk as he rang him up with an intentionally slow hand in an attempt to draw the interaction out just a moment longer. He gave his name as Ezra, when asked. The gorgeous fellow gave his name as...as….

_ (His throat was tight. When had it gotten so hard to breathe?) _

Prosper. His name was Prosper. 

They became friends.

_ (“You were sleeping, dear. I’m allowed to have friends!” Crowley hadn’t even raised an objection. The demon looked away, put his sunglasses down over his eyes. Said nothing.) _

It was through him that he discovered certain discreet gentlemen's clubs and was introduced to both dancing and Wilde. They wined and dined so often that there was gossip about them. Scowls in the wrong company, fond smiles in the right. 

Making love with such a specimen was an  _ experience. _ Slow and agonizing in its mounting pleasure. He forgot how to breathe with every worshipful thrust of his dearest Prospers hips, for he knew Aziraphale’s body better than even he did. Every strike set stars behind his eyelids, left him clinging for dear life to steady, pleasing shoulders. 

It was blasphemous how heavenly he was made to feel.

Aziraphale was lost and happier for it. Love was amazing. He wanted to shout it from the heavens. Hell, he wanted to shout it  _ too _ heaven. Everyone should know!

This! This was worth it all! This was worth not knowing the ineffable plan! This was worth all of creation!

No such declarations were ever made. He’d come to be glad for that. 

Prosper died.

It was a sudden thing. There was no grand diagnoses or thrilling event. It was just a hacking cough and a touch of the fever. Aziraphale could have easily healed it but...but then Prosper would know. He’d have to say what he was. He wasn’t ready to leave yet.

In true, angelic fashion he justified his inaction to himself.

It was only a cold. Humans got sick all the time. They recovered all the time.

_ (His voice sounded funny in his own ears. Strained. He kept talking. Barely noticed when Crowley set his glass aside and reached out to put a hand on his elbow. “Angel…?”) _   
  
Aziraphale knew it couldn’t last. He was immortal. Eventually he’d have to write the dreaded ‘Dear John’ letter and leave London for a few decades. Perhaps he’d go to Germany or Belgium. He’d never lived for any length of time in either location. 

Prosper got worse but he was still walking about. Still visiting daily. He whispered sweet nothings and spoke of running away to a cottage in the countryside.  _ “Wouldn’t that be lovely, Ezra? I know you’re not fond of riding but I’d get a carriage for you so you never have to sully that glorious backside.” _ He laughed until he fell into a fit of coughing and was forced to smother it with a handkerchief. 

Aziraphale laughed as well. Allowed himself to dream.

...he wished Crowley was awake. He was too close to all this to know what to do. He needed advice, even if there was a possibility the demon was still angry with him. That would work in his favor, actually. Crowley would be brutally honest, tell him how daft and foolish he was being.

_ (“Angel. Angel, I’m right here. Are you still with me? Are you hearing yourself?”) _

Prosper stopped coming to the shop. The first day he didn’t worry himself too much. He came from wealth, after all. That meant sometimes he’d need to hide away, lest all his proclivities be brought under scrutiny. 

Aziraphale had become quite the large proclivity, from his understanding. 

Then three days passed. He dared not go by his home. What if his relatives were there? He’d give it all away. Perhaps this was the most logical time to write that letter and shutter the shop for a while….

Then a mutual acquaintance from the club came by. They asked if he was going to the wake. To the funeral. 

He did neither. 

_ (“Aziraphale….” A touch on his cheek, something wet and warm being wiped away. “Shh… shh….”)  _

He really had been an idiot.  _ Love between a human and an angel? _ That was how the nephilim business started! True, they were both male but...but….

It simply wasn’t  _ fair.  _

Why did it need to be so cruel? 

Why did he need to be so happy?

God most certainly had a hand in Prosper as She did in all things. Why put him on the earth and send him to his shop of all places? What was he meant to do?! 

_ (“Angel, please, breathe!”)  _

He must have fouled it up. Perhaps he was meant to heal Prosper. Perhaps it was a test of faith and duty that he had failed in spectacular fashion. 

Perhaps he was awful. The worst angel. The worst there ever was. 

First he truly understood love and now he hadn’t even helped someone deserving of divine intervention. 

A failure. Awful. Unforgivable. 

Why wasn’t She answering? He was calling to Her for some clarity and finding none. It hurt too much. Why did something that had no physical matter feel like a sword to his chest? He didn’t understand. 

_ Please, please, please. He wanted to understand-! _

** _(“Aziraphale!”)_ **

*****************************************************************************************************

His face was pressed to Crowley’s thin chest. He wasn’t sure when that happened. The fabric was wet, smelled of grief and salt. Tears. He’d been...crying?

Oh dear. Oh goodness!

He attempted to push away but the grip on his shoulders tightened, drawing him in closer protectively. It was only then that he realized that the demon was physically holding him in place and rocking him like a tormented child. It should have been embarrassing yet he only found comfort in it.

“...I messed that up rather spectacularly, didn’t I?” He laughed self consciously, voice still thick and strange. “All you wanted was a dramatic, saucy tale and I made it far too personal.”

A hesitant hand pet at his hair cautiously. It felt sinfully good. “You got a bit carried away, sss’all.” Oh no. He was hissing. He had upset him! 

“I’m dreadfully sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to agitate you. I know this must be quite the pathetic display-” He was petted again, with more confidence. Really, Crowley was quite good at that….

“...I...I fell in love once too.” It was whispered and hesitant. A confession. He could feel the poor demons heart hammering through his ribs like a drum line. 

“Did it go well for you?” The angel asked softly, hoping against hope that it had.

“It-uhm-never really went anywhere. They never caught on and demons don’t really go around making grand declarations.” He chuckled, continued to pet his hair. Aziraphale wanted to see his face but found it was quite nice to be held like this. He would have never guessed that Crowley was so willing to give physical affection.

He made a note of it. Sank further into him. 

“They must have been a fool. You’re not exactly subtle, my dear.” Aziraphale laughed and sniffled away the last of tears. The weight of the memories he had dredged up was lightening under his dear demons support.

Said demon snorted as if he had said something particularly hilarious or stupid. “They’re pretty smart, actually. Just wrapped up in their work and, dare I say, a bit self involved.” 

‘They’re.’ Present tense. A flare of...of  _ something _ ignited in the angels chest. Protectiveness. Indignation. Anyone would be lucky to have Crowley’s affections! That someone unwitting human was walking around in the world, oblivious to the fact they were adored, with Crowley in the perfect position to pursue them without consequence was infuriating. 

...or  _ something. _ He wasn’t quite sure what this intense feeling in his chest was. 

“They are still a fool.”   
  
“Hm. The best kind of fool, though.” He sounded so _ fond. _ That ugly feeling in him twisted again. “Now. I think it’s my turn, yeh?”

“Oh!” He tried to pull away again only to be reeled in again. If he didn’t know better he’d have thought Crowley was a constrictor type of serpent, not venomous. His grip certainly seemed to suggest it. “We need not continue, dear boy. I no doubt ‘spoiled the mood’, as they say.”    
  
“Naw. Let me distract you a bit longer. I got a stupid but happy one. A blessing you sent me on for-fucking-ever ago.” More pets. He relaxed. “Trust me, yeh? You’ll like this one. I had to get creative.”

  
Aziraphale sighed, closed his eyes, breathed in Crowley’s scent. Really. He could at least let him pull his face away from him. He wanted to see him. “If you insist, my dear.”   
  
“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light on the smut. Heavy on the angst. I don't need forgiveness.
> 
> Edit: Whoops. I copied this with out italics and other such things. It's all working now.


	5. Thin Ice: Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reluctantly forceful Crowley here. Read at your own risk.

Whoever thought of living in places like Russia or Finland or fucking  _ Canada _ should have been ashamed of themselves in Crowleys, not so humble, opinion. 

_ (Aziraphale snorted a bark of laughter into his stomach. He counted that as a success in brightening the angels spirits.) _

Why live in a place that was so blessed cold eight months of the year?! Especially when places like Morocco or Seychelles existed. Places where all you had to do was roll out of bed and put at minimum three pieces of clothing on before greeting the day. Northern countries required far too much fucking around in putting on  _ layers. _

He supposed he was biased. He often found that the further the thermometer dipped the more sluggish and down right stupid he became. Hold over snake biology at its finest. 

It was a shame. He actually liked Russia. 

He was  _ not _ so fond of Canada. The people were friendly but they also had all the worst hold overs of a Britih-French colonization, in that everyone was absolutely bat shit while being mildly polite about it. 

Feelings regarding former dominions notwithstanding, Crowley found himself in Quebec City during a winter festival, watching as families and happy couples skated on a frozen lake like it was actually fun. Leave it to humans to strap knives to their feet and call it recreation. 

_ (Another laugh. A giggle actually. Good. He kept it up.) _

He’d lost the toss and the target in need of miraculous intervention was standing right there in the middle of that lake for nearly an hour, looking about, waiting on something or someone. He dozed despite himself at one point, leaned up against a maple tree, until a child struck him with a snowball. It made for a rude awakening. 

There she was still. Shivering. Close to tears.

Crowley swore under his breath. This was going to be one of those cupid assignments, wasn’t it? Bless it all. These kinds of miracles were always ineloquent and messy. He wished that Aziraphale had known because then he would have never sent Crowley, a loveless, heartless, bad to the bone DEMON to cover it. 

_ (This time the muffled noise the angel made was slightly more derisive. Crowley gently tugged his hair in reprimand. Earned another laugh.)  _

He needed intel. That meant getting to the girl. That meant renting a pair of skates and learning just how the fuck to operate them.

Crowley had spent the first part of his eternal life flying between firmament and void. He never gave much thought to what was below the waist back then. Legs were simply glorified kickstands for when the wings got tired. Then, after the Fall, he spent a few hundred years on his belly, out of sight from bigger, nastier demons. The first time he had legs again he had stood at Aziraphale’s side on the garden wall. After he promptly went back to slithering until his first assignment came and he was forced to normalize. 

Walking was a conscious effort that persisted to the present. His legs simply didn’t  _ operate _ as he observed humans would.  _ Aziraphale _ had no problem.  _ Other demons _ didn’t have to keep a consciously steady pace and careful track of their balance. 

He simply had stupid legs.

And now he had stupid legs with knives tied to the bottom of them that he was expected to glide across ice on. 

He knew from the moment he stood from the bench and pushed off that he had erred. This fact became startlingly clear when he took an experimental step forward and promptly went arse over tea kettle, right down on his face. 

_ (Aziraphale winced in his arms. He petted him reassuringly.) _

There was a thought given to simply laying there and waiting to discorporate from hypothermia. This thought increased in intensity when skillful, skating humans laughed as they passed. Either his nose was bleeding or what remained of his pride was leaking all over the ice. 

_ Someone _ must have been watching and spared him a small mercy. His target came to him.   
  
“Are you quite alright?” Her voice was soft, tremulous. A person not given over to speaking a lot. Crowley, at this new distance, instantly got the impression of ‘serving girl’ or ‘subordinate’. This was not a dominant personality. They’d say yes to anything under persistent pressure. 

He turned to his back and looked up at her. Her clothing was hand stitched but not professionally so. Her own handiwork, most likely made from an older siblings passed down clothing if not her employers castaways. Her hair was pinned neatly and her lips shone with homebrewed berry stain that was popular amongst the less fortunate.

This girl probably went to church every Sunday since she was an infant and, now as an adult, she went because she truly believed God was good. She had taken all the New Testament and none of the Old, lived by that example by extruding kindness right down to her very soul. 

She was also terribly, frightfully, overwhelmingly gay. No longing glance was spared to Crowley’s form...but the minute a pretty, high class lady drifted by her eyes would draw upwards in brief appreciation before remembering herself and she refocusing on his well being. 

Crowley had no idea what miracle he was due to perform. Perhaps heaven expected Aziraphale to ‘help’ by praying the gay away or having her settle for a sufficiently pious husband. 

Aziraphale wouldn’t do that, though. He’d give this girl exactly what she needed, not what some distant angel with a collection of assignments thought she needed.

He’d give her what she  _ deserved. _

Crowley would as well. 

_ (Aziraphale shifted in his lap, just enough to reveal one brilliantly blue, questioning eye. “Was I wrong?” Crowley asked, suddenly concerned he misread. A smile curled at the exposed corner of the angels lips and he tucked his face back into the demons abdomen.) _

Too bad he left all his best skirts back in London. Well, he’d been spotted anyways. One sunglasses at night wearing weirdo would be strange enough. There was no way he could eloquently reintroduce as a female sunglasses- at night-wearing-weirdo.

He’d need to get creative. 

She was just kind as she seemed, wasting little time in soothing Crowley’s fractured ego, reassuring him that skating isn't for everyone but, maybe, with practice he could get better. He accepted the kindness graciously, though he bristled a bit within the confines of his mind.

She was the one deserving of kindness. Not him.

He came to discover that she had been waiting for a dear friend. She was two hours late which could have meant any number of things but his target had jumped to assuming that she had been stood up. Crowley didn’t have the information available yet to know if that was the case. 

So he bit back his pride and offered to spend time skating with her, if she didn’t mind his idiotic legs. She didn’t. She took his arm and helped him glide about, all the while answering his inquiries and asking none of her own.    
  
This girls sense of confidence and curiosity had long been snuffed out. He felt a pang for her. Not saying anything didn’t mean one simply stopped wondering. He knew this all too well. 

Skating was winding down. There was still no sign of her companion and Crowley was poor replacement, despite his best efforts at charm. He _ could  _ have manipulated her, used a few infernal miracles to make her forget that sexual preference was even a thing. 

He wasn’t  _ gross, _ though. 

Instead he offered to walk her home. Perhaps an opportunity would present itself and, even if it didn’t, he’d at least have an opening to come back and do something the next day. He could play oblivious. The guy who just didn’t _ get  _ when he wasn’t wanted. 

Thankfully Someone had mercy on him once again. Another young woman arrived as they were leaving, flushed and breathless, exhausted to her bones but determined. The sheer amount of desire she imparted to the air around her was palpable to him. The desperation for the young woman at his arm, the need-

The absolute, devastated  _ horror _ when she saw him standing so close to the one she wanted so badly. 

Crowley had seen her first. His target was so fixated on her own disappointment and the narrative that she had created that she was oblivious to her beloved's arrival. He could feel, perhaps not as acutely as Aziraphale would have been able, the absolute overwhelming need and love. 

He felt like he was flying. It was so,  _ so good.  _

He also knew they had been dancing around each other forever, in human terms anyways. One with too much religious guilt, the other waiting until she was one hundred percent sure she wouldn’t be rejected. Really. What nonsense. If you wanted something you had to take that leap!

_ (He was a hypocrite.)  _

_ (Aziraphale stirred in his lap, probably looking at him again. He kept his gaze to the wall.) _

_ (Coward. Hypocrite. Pathetic.) _

The plan was formed immediately and, as such, it was sloppy. It would leave him as the villain but-hey-demon, right? Villainy was in the narrative. 

He wrapped an arm about his targets missection, forced himself to ignore her discomfort, and pressed himself in close. Crowding her. 

She was afraid.

He felt sick with himself.

He kept going. Used his miracle for the evening, but not on her, but the one watching. Divine inspiration, of a sort.

_ Save her. She’s yours isn’t she? Show her. Save her. I’m not that big. You’re stronger than you think. SAVE HER.  _

No movement. Any closer and he really  _ was _ going to be sick with himself. He wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror, let alone Aziraphale in the face. 

He grabbed her hip, fought back a memory of an assignment a long time ago where he was at the opposite end-

_ Really? You’re just going to stand there? Useless, pretty thing. That’s what they all think of you. A pretty face with no fucking agency. The only one worth anything to you is scared and you’re just going to watch? Are you REALLY going to let that fly, little girl?  _

The punch was devastating. It snapped the frames of his glasses like a toothpick, sent him colliding with the ground. 

Ouch. She really was stronger than she thought. 

Stars stopped flashing in eyes just in time for him to see dual sets of skirts bolting around a corner, hand in hand. He waited a moment before following. He needed to make sure this push worked. This certainly wasn’t what anyone had in mind but, well, miracles were an angels business, not demons. Of course it was going to be  _ bad _ in some way. 

Still...he needed to make sure the bad led to good. Aziraphale would be cross if it didn’t, even if he never learned the details. 

He found them hiding away in a pub, leaning across towards each other despite the table between them. His target had been crying recently, her lip was still trembling. 

Ugh. I felt nauseous. He did that. Awful. 

...but her partner was brushing tears away, running a careful, tender thumb over that trembling lip. Telling her it was all okay. Hushing her sweetly. 

The nausea in his stomach settled a little. The love hit him in a wave when their eyes met. Oh. Oh yes. Please. More of that-

He left. Yeh. That would work out. He was sure of it. Anything further observation would have been uncomfortably voyeuristic. Not to mention he had just about reached his emotional limit. He couldn’t handle anymore ugliness or love. 

The love stayed with him.

The ugliness stayed longer.

When he checked in, years later, they were still together. 

The ugliness, finally, faded. 

****************************************************************************************

Aziraphale had turned in his lap so he was looking up at him. He could feel his eyes boring into his chin from that low angle. He didn’t look to confirm, not wanting to see what he found there. He said nothing. 

“...why do you do that?” Aziraphale asked after what seemed like forever. 

“Do what?” Crowley asked, genuinely curious what he meant. He did a lot of things that could leave a person questioning.

“You always end sourly. You start sweet and it’s as if you become ashamed of yourself and-” the angel struggled over his words- “point out flaws to paint yourself as worse than you are.”   
  
“Demon, Aziraphale.” He waved a hand, as if this would explain everything. It should. 

Aziraphale’s head left his lap and he immediately felt the loss. Ah. So he had driven him away despite himself. Typical-

“You...you  _ do _ know that I don’t see you that way, yes?” Aziraphale said it with the kind of somberness best left for serious declarations. The tone forced Crowley to look at him, to take in how earnest the angel was being. “You’re Crowley. Not an angel, not a demon. Simply...Crowley.”   
  
Crowley gaped a little, stammered something, a denial rising in his throat.

Aziraphale found his words faster. “And I think you’re lovely.”

His mouth snapped shut. 

“I’ll continue to think so, my dear, until you believe it as well.”

Something important was happening. Something important was happening and he was t _ oo drunk  _ to properly do anything about it. Crowley made to sober himself, to face it head on-

“Let’s have another drink, dear,” Aziraphale was already pouring. “You’ve told three now. We should keep it even, don’t you think? It’s only fair.”   
  
Crowley wasn’t sure what was happening. He numbly took the glass. “I...I don’t know if I feel like telling many more stories. I’m kind of tired.”   
  
Aziraphale hesitated, avoided his eyes. “Indulge me? Just one more? I will make it brief. I...well. I think I’m on the cusp of some grand realization but...but I simply must continue.”   
  
Crowley’s brow furrowed with genuine confusion. “I don’t understand.”   
  
“...I know. Perhaps you won’t after, either.” Aziraphale was looking into his glass, eyes distant, soft, and nervous. “I suppose we shall see. I just...need to see.”   
  
Crowley wasn’t sure what the angel meant to ‘see’ in telling a story. He could feel the gravity in his words, however, and he could never deny Aziraphale anything. 

“Go on then,” he murmured, taking a sip of his drink. “Let’s hear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer!


	6. Confessional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my anniversary this weekend soooo...double update?
> 
> DOUBLE UPDATE.

Prosper may have been the first acknowledged love in his life but, if he was honest with himself, there was another. One that held his ardour in ways that waxed and waned with the cycles of the universe. Every time it waned he would breathe with relief only to immediately feel bereft. Every time it waxed he didn’t know what to do with himself so he threw himself into his duties, pretended that he felt nothing. 

Aziraphale had the first inkling of  _ something _ while watching a failing play. He was quite into it, trying to make up for his companions obvious distaste. When it came time to part, Arrangements made, he had resigned himself to the fact that this would be the last time he saw this play. His companion had huffed, annoyed, made a vague promise it wouldn’t close but Aziraphale didn’t have much hope. It was a shame. It really was quite good. 

Then it became the  _ most popular play of all time _ . Everyone in the country wanted to see it.

He barely knew what to make of it.

The event left him feeling giddy for decades afterwards. 

_ (He was pacing. He couldn’t sit still in this telling. It was as if the story wanted to break from his very veins. He didn’t dare look at Crowley.)  _

The first time he realized he was deeply physically attracted to his companion he had been in his finest clothing, standing in filth, and shackled to a wall. The air smelled of copper and outrage. There was screaming. He could already feel the burning at his throat as his corporation prepared itself for what was to come next.

He was embarrassed. Angry.  _ Frightened. _

He hadn’t even gotten the lunch he came for! It would have been a fine last meal if he had. 

Then...then he was  _ there. _ Lounging about as if he were soaking up the sun on a beach rather than risking tetanus against rusty bars. He was fetching. Charming even. His slender legs looked particularly fine in stockings and his clothing, though subdued, fit the role of debonair rescuer perfectly. 

Aziraphale may have given him a once over. Flustered a bit. His layers of clothing felt a few degrees too hot and stuffy.

He was happy to get the chance to change them moments later. 

_ (There was a clatter as Crowley fumbled with his glass with shaking hands. He had drained it rather quickly and was now struggling to refill it. The jug was empty.) _

There was a fight. 

Aziraphale could have handled the request better but it was...overwhelming. Even as his companion made a perfectly reasonable, brief argument for his askance Aziraphale found himself panicking. 

A drop.  _ It would only take a drop.  _

One small accident and...and….

Oh! And his companion was prone to melancholy and morbidity! To fits of drink and sleep that reeked of a soul deep malaise! What if...what if…!

He handled it poorly. 

He spent the following years lonely and upset...then along came Prosper….

_ (Aziraphale was still talking as he fervently waved his hand, miracling the jug full again. The demon let out a shuddering breath. Made no attempt to refill his glass again.)  _

The realization hit him like a bomb. Literally. A bomb had fallen and they were both still in one piece. They worked well together, didn’t they? One causing the destruction, the other tempering it. He’d been so focused on the latter he’d forgotten what he had spent centuries pouring all his devotion into. The only objects that lasted in his life. The only things that were  _ his. _

For a moment he was devastated but...but they were both alive. He’d get over it. He’d had to get over worse losses, after all. 

Then a satchel was pressed into his hands, fingers brushed, a soft word of explanation offered with an even softer smile.

He realized he was in love and probably had been for a very long time. 

_ (He dared look. Crowley was still as a statue. Sunglasses back. A wall up. Probably not a good sign. Well, he was in it now.) _

Aziraphale knew he’d do anything- ** _anything_ ** -to ensure his companions safety. A thermos of holy water? It took him a few decades to build his nerves but he eventually performed the blessing himself. 

A respectable distance? Done. No one would ever know. Not heaven, not hell,  _ certainly _ not his companion. 

Thwarting the Plan? Well, if it wasn’t meant to be he wouldn’t be able to thwart it and he’d go to his great reward knowing he’d done all he could to secure his companions safety.

Refusing to go with him?  _ They’d have come. _ Perhaps Hell wouldn’t have cared enough to pursue them across the cosmos but angels could be so single minded! God was the only one that could offer sufficient protections and he  ** _would_ ** get Her attention!

Breaking rank? Oh but it had been hard but...but he knew he had made the right choice once he saw how destroyed his companion was. Poor thing. Oh goodness if he had a physical body in that moment-!

...everything after? A dance. A paranoid frantic one where he didn’t know the steps or how to proceed so he didn’t even try. It was better to stand to the side. Less risk. He could admire from a distance and, eventually, maybe, perhaps, the feeling would dull.

He was  _ still _ dancing. He was pacing. His narrative was unravelling. Please, oh please-!   
  
** _“Say something, won’t you?!”_ **

****************************************************************************************************

Aziraphale was wringing his hands so hard he feared breaking his own fingers. Crowley was still, his eyes hidden. He could have passed out drunk and the only give away would have been how uncharacteristically whip straight his posture was.

Aziraphale’s breath was heavy in his own ears and his heart doing a rather complicated rhythm in his chest. A hot kind of pressure was building in his sinuses and closing his throat. Burning his eyes. 

He waited.

He should have sobered himself. Books at taught him it was an awful,  _ awful _ idea to make these kinds of confessions while drunk. Had he even made sense? Perhaps he only came of loony or obsessed. Less passionate and more  _ ‘I’m going to hide you under my floor boards.’  _

He waited.

It wasn’t reciprocated. Crowley had mentioned there was someone he loves. Present tense. For a moment Aziraphale considered it had been him. Hell, he started this whole tirade based on that theory and because he simply wanted Crowley to know that was loved and loved deeply. 

He’d misstepped. There was a human out there holding the love of a demon in their hands. No. Not a demon.  _ The love of Crowley. _ Did they know? Would they appreciate it? At their fingertips they had one of the best creatures to have ever been created. They had a man that would literally walk through fire. They had a woman who would stand fiercely at their side. They had a demon that would rake heaven. They had an angel who would call out God. 

_ Did they know?!  _

His thoughts were growing hysterical. He wanted to shout again. To shake him. He didn’t.

He waited.

And he yelped when the glass in Crowley’s hand suddenly shattered and said demon was surging to his feet, words already spilling from his lips. 

******************************************************************************************************

Once upon a time Crowley had rearranged the M25 for shits and giggles only to have it burst into flames decades later, separating him from-

_ (“No no no. Uhm.”) _

The Bentley very nearly skidded into a fire truck. He had forgotten to put on the parking brake. He didn’t care. The book shop was on fire and Hastur  _ loved _ fire. There was no familiar energy. Nothing. Where was-?!

_ (“No. That’s not right either!”) _

He wouldn’t leave. Why wouldn’t he leave?! He’d rearrange the fucking stars in the skies if they displeased him! Make a wall between Them and their enemies! If only he’d take his hand and-and-! 

_ (“For Satans sake! That isn’t right-!”) _

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”   
  
For a while he couldn’t sit in the Bentley without hearing that. Was he fast? Was he obvious? He must have been. He fucked it up. He-

_ (He yelled incoherently, picked up the jug, threw it.) _

How dare they try to shoot his angel in a  _ church?! _ Who the fuck did they think they were? Stupid, genocidal-! 

_ (He paced, tripping over his own feet. He pitched his sunglasses at the wall so hard they shattered.) _

He didn’t love him. He never would. He refused his request because he didn’t care for his safety the same way he cared for his. He rejected him because he planned to deny their friendship and insulate himself in holiness if they were ever discovered. This was all just...just a way to pass the time to him. 

_ (Was he speaking English? The words were burning his mouth like Enochian.) _

Take his angels head? No. Never. His stupid, daft, beautiful angel was  _ his _ , head and all! 

_ (He was fierce.) _

The play wasn’t  _ that _ bad. It made him happy. His angel loved to share his joy. He’d gladly help.

_ (He was laughing deliriously.) _

Pious angel, refusing demonic temptation. Accepting a friends.

Surprising angel offering a temptation in the form of oysters and kind company.

Stalwart angel, refusing to look away from agony. 

Confused angel, questioning but remaining silent, waiting for rain.

_ (He stopped. The fire in his chest burning out to a painful smolder. He was shaking. _ )

There….

There was a Garden. There was a Wall. 

On that Wall stood Light. His flaming sword was gone. It was like an invitation.  _ ‘Come, serpent, I’ll not hurt you.’  _

Crawly hadn’t feared for his life. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t a life worth protecting. He’d done his big job and now...what? Go back to Hell and rot? He’d sooner die. 

The angel didn't bat an eyelash. In fact, they seemed glad for the company. There was a comfort in company, even the unexpected type. They made small talk, watched as the world was changed forever.

He had given away his sword to ensure it would get a  _ chance _ to change.

Crawly was familiar with love. Angels were made of righteousness and told to love...but Crawly knew love better than any angel or demon. It was part of him.

He wondered if God misstepped in his creation. If she had made him wrong.

He had once wondered this out loud, to Her face, along with several other things.

He had Fallen for it.

Love was not something easily stripped, it seemed.

It was the beginning of the world and the demon Crawly, who didn’t know what he was meant to be other than ‘evil’ and ‘unforgivable’, instantly fell in love with an angel. 

He remained in love for six thousand years and planned on keeping that flame going for six thousand more.

*****************************************************************************************

There was silence except for their heavy, drunken breathing. The room was messier than when they had started, a demonic fit having taken place alongside angelic insecurity.

They met each others eyes at the same time. Bright blue to sunny yellow. One set of pupils round and dark, the other ovular and searching.

“Aziraphale….”   
  
“Crowley...I….”   
  
_ “Fuck.” _

_ “Quite.” _

They moved at the same time, crossing the distance they put between them, colliding exactly in the middle. 

An earthquake hit England for the first time in some ninety years andthe brightest aurora borealis to ever light English skies appeared. The magically attuned suddenly had some stunningly accurate prophetic visions and a former Anti-Christ felt a strange kind of tingle in the back of his brain. 

Some paranoid types took it as a sign of The End.

How were they to know The End was, at present, sixteen days over due?

  
How were they to know this was a  _ Beginning? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be good smut and sap next chapter. Ye've been warned


	7. A New Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be smut.

Seven

Once upon a time there was an angel and demon who fell madly in love but did nothing about it. The angel thought he was being ridiculous and something was broken in him yet didn’t actively try to beat back the feeling. The demon assumed he was unlovable and something was broken in him but didn’t actively try to stop himself.

Both were terrible with communication. Both feared being known and cast away by the other. 

To find they were both on the same page and had been for quite a long time was... _ a revelation. _

One that ended with the demon being thrown against a bookshelf and toppling several exceedingly rare volumes to the floor. If it hurt him, the demon didn’t say. He only wrapped his legs around the angels hips, hooked his ankles together and kept his lips well occupied with the heavenly beings mouth.

They didn’t need to breathe, not technically, but both had fallen into the habit so long ago they hardly knew how to stop. Their tongues stopped tangling just long enough to look at each other and fully appreciate what was happening.    
  
“This is-” started Crowley, lips kiss swollen red and slick, breath coming in short gasps. His pupils were blown as wide as they’d allow, taking in all the details he could lest it all be some grand, cruel hallucination brought on by ancient, mystery booze. 

“-divine?” Finished Aziraphale, his curls a mess from Crowley’s insistent carding and pulling, bow tie askew from being yanked after that first kiss. His blue eyes held firm to him, memorizing the cut of his jaw and the exact number of freckles on his cheeks. “Surreal? Outstanding? Tell me, my dearest heart, tell how ‘this is’ and I’ll make it even  _ better.” _

Crowley groaned and his hands were in pale curls again to pull him in for another bruising kiss. It seemed Aziraphale was going to undo him atom by atom starting with impossibly sweet words and, hopefully, ending by making him come so hard he’s accidentally created a whole new fucking  _ solar system. _

If he’d been paying attention he’d have noticed that the sky was, in fact, much brighter than it should have been for it being just after one o’clock in the morning. He wasn’t paying attention, though. Neither of them were. 

Aziraphales hands moved to his ass, squeezing and pressing him tighter to the shelf. The angel was distantly aware they were knocking priceless artifacts from their perches but he couldn’t bring himself to care about material items when the one thing he wanted to be  _ HIS  _ for millenia was wrapped so tightly around him he thought his back might break. He hoped it wouldn’t. It would be quite impossible to thrust his demon in divine oblivion with a broken back. 

He’d try, though, if it came to it. 

He laughed suddenly, breaking from Crowley’s lips and earning a baffled look. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologized breathlessly. “I think I may be a tad delirious. I am having the  _ strangest _ thoughts.”

Crowley tilted his head questioningly, exposing a beautiful stretch of neck that Aziraphale found himself helplessly transfixed by. “Such as?” 

“Hm?” He was salivating, a tension suddenly in his jaw. Oh! What had he been laughing about? He couldn’t recall. There was too much neck just inches away from his face. He made something up instead. “I’m going to bite you.”    
  
“That doesn’t seem toOooooh!” Crowley held the vowel and let it morph into a lusty moan as Aziraphale, quite literally, sunk his teeth into the space between his shoulder and neck. Well, he  _ had _ warned him. It was just shocking, if not incredibly arousing, that he hadn’t led up to it with sweet kisses and licks. The angel simply...dove in like he was a  _ fucking cake. _

The demon took the opportunity to make another attempt on that blasted bow tie. He’d been dying to get his hands on it ever since it became a staple in Aziraphale’s wardrobe. Hell, he  _ may  _ have had a one or two fantasies where he tenderly unwound the strip of fabric only to use it to bind the angels wrists or gag him. 

He  _ also _ may have had one or two fantasies where Aziraphale did that exact same thing to him. He did have rather slender wrists, after all. 

The tie pulled away like smoke and was tossed behind him on the quickly collapsing shelf. Aziraphale sensed that the structural integrity of his livelihood was on the verge of destruction and set his demon down. 

Said demon whined at the loss of hands on his asa and teeth at his throat. 

That wouldn’t do at all.

“Now, now, my darling,” he tutted breathlessly, raking his eyes over just Crowley greedily. “Next time I’ll make sure I take you against the Tolkien or Lewis. Those shelves are far sturdier. Now, however…?”    
  
Trembling, eager fingers pinched at pewter buttons, freeing them from black fabric. Crowley caught on quickly, slithering out of his coat in a fluid motion while Aziraphale continued with his shirt buttons, wadding it up in one hand and throwing it to the side with abandon. His own keen fingers began working over the angels waistcoat. 

Thank goodness Aziraphale had abandoned his coat before the story telling had even began. Crowley wasn’t sure if he’d have it in him to be careful with the antique material. 

Speaking of…. “Careful, dear.” It was barely a reprimand, too breathy and laced with need to hold any real weight. “I’ve had this outfit for a quite a while. They simply don’t make clothing like this anymore.”   
  
“You’ve certainly got that right,” Crowley grinned at him wickedly. “Modern clothing is  _ much _ easier to get off. For example…” 

The angel freed the last of his shirt buttons and crowley rolled his shoulders with intentional seductive drama, allowing the fabric to slip away from his arms and pool to the floor. Aziraphale gaped, blue eyes roaming over all this new, exposed flesh with same appreciation he’d give a dessert case. 

Crowley nearly went weak at the knees under such hungry scrutiny. How he managed a tempting grin and keeping his voice reasonably steady didn’t know. “See? Easy.”   
  
“Easy,” echoed Aziraphale faintly before surging against him again. This time he had the presence of mind to  _ not _ back him into the shelving. He also had the mind to summon a heavenly soldiers strength and heft Crowley up without the need for bracing because, really, what did he need to hide? He was more than capable of holding him up for hours if he wanted. 

And he  _ wanted. _

Crowley wanted too if the shocked, delighted noise he made was anything to go by. “Fuck, angel!” 

It was Aziraphales turn to grin. “Soon enough.” It was cheesy, both of them knew it, but neither cared. Especially when heavenly lips met one of those newly exposed nipples and lavished it with attention. A particularly lost, raw noise was ripped from Crowley and he pulled Aziraphale’s hair, hauling him closer, urging him on. 

The way he figured, he knew his shop like the back of his hand, so he didn’t have to pull his face away. From where they were it should have only taken five steps to get to the stairs. Then he could ascend to his flat, still abusing his lovely demons chest, and throw them both down on his bed so they could ravish each other in earnest as if they were in Harlequin Romance. 

He erred. On the second step he brought his foot squarely down on one of the rounder baubles that his shelves had been divested of and sent them both tumbling to the floor. Thank God that he managed to not bring his full weight down on his dearest! That he was the one that ended up flat on his back with Crowley--

  
  


With Crowley positioned over him looking like the cat that caught the canary. Or the snake that caught the dove? 

“Were you trying to sweep me away to your  _ boudoir?” _ Crowley mocked tenderly, running a finger down his clothed chest, miraculously popping buttons in its wake. Pale, soft skin and a dusting of white-blond hair was revealed to him. “I bet you were thinking you were going to throw me down and make me  _ beg _ for it.” 

Aziraphale-oh the precious, beautiful bastard!- tilted his head just so and offered an entirely too pleasant smile. “Aren’t you already begging for it?” He bucked his hips up against Crowley’s arse to prove his point. 

Crowley snarled, a noise that would have no doubt been  _ terrifying _ if it came from the dark..and not from a man that was blushing down to his navel, then claimed his angels lips again. His hand skirted over soft, rounded plains of flesh with a gentle reverence that didn’t match the possessive nature of his kisses. Worshipful, giving every inch he came across the attention it deserved. 

When he pulled back to work on the angels belt and fastenings he found that Aziraphale made for quite a sight with shirt pulled open, hair mussed, eyes increasingly hazy and absolutely starved for him. He had planned to strip him down piece by piece as if he were a gift but...but disheveled, half dressed Aziraphale laying on the floor of his shop was something he never knew he needed until that moment. 

“If you could see yourself right now,” he groaned, giving voice to his thoughts. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me? What you’ve done to me? If someone showed me a picture of you like this at the Beginning and told me all I had to do was Fall to have you I would have bloody LEAPED out of heaven before they were finished!” 

Aziraphale was caught somewhere between horrified and touched. “My dear-!” 

“Don’t look so scandalized, angel.” He shifted his weight just enough to free him from his pants, not even bothering to undress him further. “You love it. You love that I love you. You love that this is the story you’re going to be able to tell.” 

He bent and placed adoring kisses along his exposed bit of collarbone. “Just-” he murmured against him, hot and quiet, as his hand wrapped around him- “please let me be that last lover you have a story to tell about.” 

Then he stroked.

Aziraphale cried out, grasping at the perfect body above him. Oh his sweet demon. His absolutely flawless beginning and end. There would be no one else ever again. Oh God in Heaven, how could there have been anyone else before this?! 

A snap of his fingers and his lovers trousers and undergarments were gone. It was cheating, perhaps, but the less time he spent trying to fight with too tight garments and long, beautiful legs the better. Crowley was already there on top of him, after all. Why move him? 

The demon laughed against his chest but offered no complaint. Not ever when miraculously slick fingers reached about him at an awkward angle and began to explore. “Ah-! Ffff-yeh? You want me to ride you?” As if spurred by the though he began to rock back towards his fingers, a pantomime of what was to come. 

“I want to be inside you. I don’t give a-a  _ damn _ if you’re on top or below just as long as I get to come away saying that I made you mine,” Aziraphale breathed urgently, possessively, sliding a slick finger inside. 

Crowley was moaning even before he was penetrated, shaking against him, his hand moving faster on his angels cock. “You don’t need to fuck me for that. I’m all yours and only yours.”    
  
The angel made a broken, joyful noise, pressed harder inside him.  _ His, his, his. _ Crowley was his by his own admission. His to keep and cherish and hold and-oh!- _ HIS. _

One finger quickly became two and two became three. Crowley was already a step towards being absolutely wrecked, crying out against angelic lips or the pale column of his neck, wherever his mouth happened to be when the urge for noise came to him. Aziraphale wasn’t fairing much better, shaking and barely keeping himself in check, repeating and internal mantra of  _ patience, soon, patience, soon _ to keep himself well grounded. 

It was Crowley who finally pulled his hips up and away, forcing Aziraphales fingers away. It was also Crowley that repositioned himself an instant later so that he was hovering over Aziraphale’s slick, weeping cock. He met his angels eyes with pools of bright yellow, his pupils having narrowed to the point that they could barely be seen. 

It was Aziraphale that gripped his hips and impulsively slammed upwards into him. His patience had finally reached its limit. Crowley cried out wordlessly, eyes flying wide, back arching violently at an angle that would have surely left a human incapacitated. The angel froze. “Crowley! I’m-! My dear I don’t know what came over me! Are you-?!” 

His worries were swallowed up by an eager, frenzied mouth when the demon pitched forward. “Fine. Good. Great. More of that. Ssso much more.  _ Pleassse!” _ Was hissed against his tongue and teeth. 

What else could Aziraphale do? He had said ‘please’ after all. 

He gripped him again, leaving crescent moons where his nails dug in, lifted him...and pulled him back down again.

A cry ripped from Crowley’s throat. He saw stars. Aziraphale was inside him. Aziraphale was  _ fucking him _ with increasingly wild abandon and it was _ best day of his entire life. _ He had pictured many things when he allowed himself to fantasize about his angel but this -THIS!- was beyond anything his rather vast imagination could concoct. Aziraphale was possessive. Aziraphale was impatient. Aziraphale was thrusting into him like he had thought about this just as much as Crowley had. 

He moaned and began moving with him, worshipping him. Hands roamed his chest followed by the scrape of nails. His mouth spewed nonsense words he dared not say outside the throes of passion. “Gorgeousss. Perfect. Oh fuck. I’m all yours. You like that, don’t you? Was made for you. I love you sss-ssso damn much that-that I’d destroy the universe and rebuild it just to put me right next to you all over again! Azi-Azira- _ Ah _ - ** _ah-!”_ **

The urgent, increasingly frenzied hissing did more for the angel than any grand, poetic declarations could ever hope to do. They certainly helped but the hissing. Oh, he was driving his dear serpent wholly feral! He was so tight and his cock was flicking pre-ejaculate over him with every buck and thrust. 

Aziraphale readjusted his grip, one hand on Crowley’s ass, the other on his cock. His ability to form words was lost to him, replaced by a litany of indecent, tantalizing noises. But he still had his actions. He aimed for his dear demons prostate at the same time he began stroking with a sure hand. 

The scream he let out was nearly deafening. Certainly inhuman, if the way the lightbulbs shattered and the undercurrent of hissing was anything to go by. He was hot and tight and made for  _ such _ a erotic picture above him that Aziraphale spiraled after him with a curse and moan that could have doubled as a roll of thunder. 

They fell into a heap. A two backed, four legged beast on the cusp of life and death. 

Crowley was lost in it, blissed out and overwhelmed, his lips moving of their own accord as they continued to pepper sloppy kisses across any warm flesh they brushed against. He could hear drums in his ears, see stars behind his eyelids. He pulled his hips back, freeing Aziraphale from him only to whimper at the loss. 

Aziraphale gazed sightlessly up at the ceiling, mindlessly petting sweat soaked, red hair. His heart was hammering inside his ribs, threatening to either stop completely or break free. Eventually enough awareness returned to him that he realized he was slightly uncomfortable. He shifted, rolling them to their sides with a pained grunt. 

A yellow eye opened and a red eyebrow rose in a silent question.

Aziraphale frowned, reaching behind him blindly. “I think I’ve got a splinter in my-uhm-behind.” He shied away from openly cursing, suddenly a bit mortified by how bold his mouth had been just moments before. 

Both angel and demon shared a peculiar look. Then the demon snorted, a baffled, disbelieving smile curling at the corner of his pretty lips, as he realized that all of  _ THAT _ had really just happened. The angel giggled at the absurdity of it all which spurred on further laughter in his lover. They laughed and giggled until they were both breathless and holding on to each other joyfully. 

Happily.

Completely, totally, eternally besotted. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“There was an earthquake last night.”   
  
“Oh?” Aziraphale added three sugar to his tea. _ “Here?” _ _   
_   
“Yep,” Crowley sipped at his black tea, not really looking up from his phone. “An aurora too.”   
  
“Oh dear. Isn’t this not the season for such a thing?”   
  
“It’s barely the  __ nation for such a thing, angel.” 

“Ah.” Said angel took a sip of his tea, sparing a moment to savor it. “Anything else?”

“A new constellation.” Crowley turned his phone, brow pinched as he studied the grainy image. “It’s...kinda phallic, honestly.” 

Aziraphale  _ may _ have snorted a little. He hid his amused smile behind the brim of his cup. 

“A two headed calf was born up in Leeds.”

“...are there farms in Leeds?”

“No idea. There was at least a pregnant cow. The calf is doing well.”   
  
“Thank goodness. We should go look!”   
  
Crowley arched an eyebrow. “If you want?”

“I do! I’ll perform a blessing!”   
  
“On a cow?”

“A cow we probably created, dear.” Aziraphale nodded, smiling slyly at him. 

Crowley looked away and pocketed his phone, gathering himself. “I...was hoping we’d go on holiday. Together. If you like.”   
  
There was a soft  _ ‘clink!’ _ as a tea cup was settled onto its matching saucer. A well manicured hand took a slender one decorated with black polish. “Will you tell me another story wherever we go, my dear? I’ve a few more of my own.” 

That well manicured hand was brought to smiling lips, a kissed brushed over its knuckles. “You know what? We’ll probably create a few of our own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many scenes were cut from this for just how long they take to write/research and because I also feel shorter is better if you want to not grow stale. 
> 
> Now I got stuff I have no idea what to do with. :P
> 
> Ah well. Thanks for the love, dears. It's been a trip!

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo. The next one will be softer.


End file.
